


Once Upon a Sweltering Night

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Future Fic, Married Life, No Smut, Nudity, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: There's a heat wave in Storybrooke, and it's making it hard for Emma to sleep. But regardless of the heat, Emma can't stop touching her husband. She never can.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Once Upon a Sweltering Night

**Author's Note:**

> * I know the title and the summary may sound like it, but just to be clear - this is NOT smut. There's not even any sex in this - there are mentions of nudity and hinted sex at the end, but that's it.   
> * This came to me the other night after a conversation with my husband regarding the heat and my sleeping habits. It's also inspired by a trip to see my mom's family in upstate New York several years ago during a record-breaking heat wave. As a Southern girl, it was shocking to me that hardly anyone had air conditioning. Even restaurants and stores! There was no escaping the heat, especially at night. Despite what you may have seen in John Grisham movies, here in the South we understand the importance of central air.  
> * If you're worried about Hope and SIDS because she's sleeping on her back with a blanket in this, don't be. She's around nine months old in this story, when babies are perfectly capable of rolling over on their own.

Emma’s hand was significantly warmer than the rest of her body. She was wearing nothing but her panties and the thinnest tank top she owned, she had flung the blankets away and was covered with nothing but a thin sheet, and one foot was sticking out of said sheet. The window to their bedroom was opened wide to let in what little breeze there was on this sweltering August night, and the ceiling fan worked as hard as it could to move the stale air. 

So she should really move her hand away from her husband’s chest.

Storybrooke was in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave. It was so unheard of this far north, that Emma, Regina, and Zelena had even searched for a possible magical explanation. But no, it wasn’t a strange curse. All of Maine was experiencing the heat wave. The 97 degree heat didn’t break the record (that was 105 way back in 1911), but it was sure making everyone in town miserable. 

So she should really move her hand away from her husband’s chest.

To make matters worse, their dream house had no central air. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when Emma purchased it. After all, it wasn’t usually needed in Maine, and this close to the sea, they could just open up all the windows to let the ocean breeze waft through the house. This week, however, they were really wishing they had air conditioning.

So yeah, it didn’t make sense that her hand was still resting on Killian’s chest. What was it about the male species that they radiated heat like a furnace? In the winter, it was wonderful. Emma would curl up against her warm, furry husband, eliciting a “bloody hell” from him when she slid her ice cold toes between his calves. She had never been a cuddler before, even with Neal, but with Killian, she was. She loved to tuck her head under his chin and run her fingers through his chest hair. She loved when he gathered her close when her back was to him, and she would wrap her arms around his, relishing the way he nuzzled into her neck. When he came to bed after her, she always sensed the way the bed dipped and would reach out for him. Not always in the most subtle way. There was the infamous evening of November 12th when the crack preceding his “bloody hell” made her worry that she’d broken his nose or something. She’d never been very graceful. Thankfully, all she’d done was smack him in the face. 

The point was, she couldn’t  _ not  _ touch him. Even on a night like this, she had to feel him, know he was there. It was too damn hot for cuddling, but she could at least feel his chest hair beneath her fingers and the beat of his heart against her palm. 

But that chest of his was  _ hot _ \- and she meant that literally. She’d be a whole lot cooler if she pulled away, and maybe then she wouldn’t be lying here wide awake. She sighed as her gaze raked his body head to toe. He was sound asleep, snoring softly, completely nude, and completely on display, with no sheets or blankets covering him. Killian had told her when they went to bed that if she wanted to be cool, she should just strip down and not use the sheets. Emma had retorted that she hated sleeping naked, her boobs flopped around. He’d waggled his eyebrows, naturally, his gaze falling to her chest, and pointed out that the scrap of fabric she called a tank top couldn’t possibly provide that much support. She’d rolled her eyes and pointed out that he had no way of understanding the burden of having breasts.

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.”

Remembering the conversation made her chuckle. They laughed a lot. She really liked that about them.

Emma sighed. She was so damn hot! Maybe Killian was right, maybe she should discard the sheet. No. She couldn’t do it. It would make her feel exposed, alone, forgotten. Like those temporary holding places in the system where all you got was a cot in a line of others, and you couldn’t sleep for the sounds of soft crying. 

Emma scooted closer to her husband. 

She rolled over onto her back, but still didn’t move her hand. Her arms were stretched out now like a starfish. She stared at the ceiling fan for a minute, then turned her head to check on Hope through the video monitor. She was out cold, just like her dad. Also like her father, Hope was on her back, one arm flung up over her head. Emma could see the rise and fall of her chest since she was wearing nothing but a diaper because of the heat. Emma had given her a thin blanket, just in case, but Hope had flung it aside. Like father, like daughter.

If the older ladies of Storybrooke could see her, they’d have a fit. Emma had gotten an earful in town today about her baby girl being cold because she was wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap sundress. In 97 degree heat she was cold? Why did everyone 65 and older think babies needed to be bundled up at all times? In the winter, they had always lectured her about Hope’s bare feet (underneath piles of blankets, mind you). Had these women never attempted to keep socks and shoes on a baby? It was impossible! Hope’s socks should have been scattered all over Storybrooke at this point, but no. Whenever she lost them, it was as if they'd been sucked into a portal to an unknown realm, never to be seen again. 

“Your thinking was so loud it woke me up, Swan,” Killian mumbled next to her. 

Emma rolled back over to look at him, but his eyes were still closed. “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’m just so hot.”

He cracked one eye open, “I told you to get naked.”

Emma chuckled as he rolled towards her and tried to gather her in his arms. She pushed both hands against his chest. “Ugh, Killian, it’s too hot for this!”

“Then why can’t you keep your hands off me, love?” he teased, though he let go of her, propping himself up on his hand instead. 

“I wish I could deny it,” she sighed, reaching up and brushing at the hair that had fallen across his forehead, “but I can’t. I just always have to be touching you. Even awake.”

He smiled softly and reached out with his stump to brush her hair off her cheek. She remembered well how long it took him to be comfortable touching her with his stump, and now he did it without even thinking. Her heart swelled. 

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“You can’t stop touching me, either,” she replied with a smile, tracing his jaw with the tip of her finger. 

“I asked you first.”

Emma’s head dropped back to her pillow as she laced their fingers together. “I guess I just want to be sure you’re still here and that you’re safe.”

He frowned, and Emma slid her fingers up to his forehead to smooth away the creases that had formed there. She didn’t mean to make him feel guilty. He turned and kissed her palm, and his face relaxed.

“And I suppose I just want to be sure this is all real. That I’m not dreaming.”

Emma threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer. “You deserve your happy ending, Killian Jones.”

She could feel his contented smile against her lips as she brushed them against his. He nuzzled his nose with hers when she pulled back. “And you don’t have to worry about what every self-appointed granny in Storybrooke says, love. If we’re hot, so is Hope. That’s what all the baby books say.”

A gasp left Emma’s lips. She wouldn’t say he could read her mind - gods knew they wouldn’t have the communication problems they sometimes had if he did - but he always seemed to know what was bothering her. And he always knew how to assuage those fears. Emma grasped his face in her hands and kissed him aggressively, pulling him down with her onto the mattress.

“I thought you said it was too hot for this,” Killian mumbled against her skin as he trailed kisses down her neck. 

“Well,” Emma smirked, “if we’re already sweaty . . . “


End file.
